


Nova Vita

by Cillo89



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Amnesia, Ancient Rome, Bathing/Washing, Control Issues, Drug Use, M/M, Minor Character Death, Public Nudity, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 18:51:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11857545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cillo89/pseuds/Cillo89
Summary: Marcello is a depressed man whose life has been stolen to become a scientific experiment. He has been trained his whole life to take part in a time travel experiment which would send him back in the Roman Empire, where his mission was to stay for two years and understand more of the old Roman culture.However, he understands his life is far better in a forgotten past than in a cruel present.





	Nova Vita

**Author's Note:**

> This was first written for an English class and I typed it again to remove spelling mistakes, inaccuracies and such. I made lotsa research to make this as accurate as possible but I couldn't find some pieces of info like: where do children (Felicianus) go in the thermae? Women's? Men's?  
> So I just didn't state if these were co-ed or not, so it's alright I guess.  
> Read the end notes for explanations of other things.
> 
> Main character's Marcello, age about 30 I'd say.

Everything is ready.

The electricity level is more than sufficient, and The machines are running as if in a contest for the loudest piece of engineering in the world. My colleagues look at me with confidence and reassuring smiles. This should be enough to embolden me, yet nothing but than anxiety clutches my heart, and I can’t help my hand from clutching my chest, feeling its frenetic pulse under my skin as it hits the inner wall of my body like it’s threatening to pop out.

My clothes have been taken care of, as I am meant to resemble a Roman man; a white toga, which required the help of three people for it to be put on, and its borders dyed burgundy, identifying me as a patrician. My glasses have been removed so as to not scare the people I will meet, and basically everything that can seem out of place in Rome has been annihilated. After a second thought, it is not that hard to look Roman. The only other thing that changed from usual was my hair, now stylized like a Roman’s, meaning it is short and almost black. It contrasts a lot with my auburn haircut from just the day before, but I have to endure that, and truth be told that was the least of my concern. As if beauty matters now; the crimson lines following the gentle fabric was enough to ensure me a good place in antique society, and my face, although definitely charming according to all the women I have known, will do nothing for me.

In the end, only one thing truly frightens me, and it is the fact that it is finally possible. After decades of development, and pouring blood and sweat into this invention, we did it. We have created the world’s first testable time machine. I did not directly contribute to its development, but I have been assigned to this unnatural scheme since my mother’s pregnancy. The progress that has been made thanks to its creation is gigantic -- and we have never tested it. I didn’t have a word in the situation. It used to seem obvious that I will be the human guinea pig from the beginning, but right now, at this very moment, I can’t say I have the confidence I had when I pronounced that one word. “Yes”, I had said to the rhetorical question, not fully understanding what it will mean for me today. I was young and related to the project from the start, of course the question was nothing more than mere decoration and superficiality.

My name is Marcello. I am a thirty-year-old man who have had to dedicate his life to the Antiquity. I have lived in Italy my whole life, together with my grandfather and my brothers. My mother decided I would be the experiment for the project, and as she died in childbirth my grandfather agreed with her last wish: I will go back in time. I’ve never been anywhere farther than the French village three kilometers away, as I needed to study, and I’m one of the rare people in the world today to speak fluent Latin. I learned it for this very day, and it would be used for the climax of my life. My childhood studies were one of the most intensive moments of my life, as I was not allowed to have any friends, and all I ever did was learn the lessons my teachers would write and pronounce for me.

My brothers, apparently, always were against this idea. I did not have a choice back then, and still nowadays I can’t prevent them, but I’m aware they used to fight with nonno about this. Once, when fighting about my education, the oldest bursted out in tears and left. All I know is that he left for four months before coming back like nothing happened, yet after this argument everything changed. This oldest brother became more and more aggressive towards nonno, missing no opportunity to remind him that he wasn’t doing the right thing, that he was so obsessed with his daughter’s death that he had lost his moral values. “The same values you taught us! The one we live by and the one we’ll teach our children!” he once yelled, challenging nonno to some stupid and vain duel.

The other brother would step aside and watch silently, every once in a while disagreeing with nonno’s speech. He didn’t like raising his voice and didn’t want to cut the tie with our dear grandfather, but I was told he cried himself to sleep at night when he thought about my condition.

I never found it terrible. I mean, I didn’t know better, so why would I complain? I never met the world my brothers promised me. The nice friends, the entertaining games, something more than family. I have no recollection of having friends, only coworkers, brothers and a grandfather. Those were my only acquaintances, and I don’t find it disheartening at all!

Okay, perhaps a bit. I have missed my childhood, said my brother, however it was no fault of mine, only nonno and his insane ideas. The nicest of my brothers was afraid nonno was mentally ill, that he was slowly developing some illness which devoured his cells one by one, killing the man they used to live with.

Nevermind this. I have to concentrate. Let me tell you about all of this: I will go back in time to the time of the Roman empire, right before Jesus’ birth, at the time we call the Pax Romana where I will spend the two years. I will adapt to the Roman culture, I will live by their customs and respect their traditions which I know by heart. It was a reconnaissance mission, and I would do it alone for financial reasons. Also because we don’t need people messing up the past. I will do this mission alone and nail it. Right?

Right. I have to convince myself that I can do it. Can you imagine the stress I’m experiencing? My whole life has been conditioned for this moment that would stay in all history books.

Since the machine is located in Rome, I will end up in Rome as well, somewhere. I hope nobody will see my arrival, as they will certainly freak out and either call me a god or kill me instantly, and I would liked neither. It is best for me and my mission, especially as I am well aware now that I may perhaps not come back. Yes, it hadn’t been obvious to me at first, but after giving it some thought I might end up killed somewhere in the past and never come back. There are also high chances that the machine will kill me during the warp, or that, when the time comes, it would not teleport me back to the present.

That is why precautions are taken. I do not own a house. I do not have children, and my family members are all gone. All of this has been decided for me, when I couldn’t even blabber a word. If I die in antiquity no one will miss me, and thus I wouldn’t miss anything either.

What do I have to lose?

Life?

Ha! What a joke. My life has revolved around this project since birth. I am meant for it, and I can’t escape from it. It is fate, or _fatum_ , like the Romans said. The Gods decided I will help increase the knowledge of our past by exploring and discovering it first hand, and if they decide I should perish in the past, I will without any regrets or even a fight.

Because you don’t contradict a god.

I can’t help but tremble with fear. I am sure I have experienced the five stages of grief, already planning how I will die in the wild world of Rome and regretting many things from the present. But it’s not professional, and for once I want to be professional. Yes, professional. I have to repeat it so as not to forget it. I will stay strong and do my job. I won’t regret anything from this life, and if I ever do it will be pure dementia. The present world has only brought me death and sadness, the past can’t be worse.

I sigh as I put one foot on the pedestal leading to the core of the machine. I scream endlessly, telling myself not to do this, to put an end to this madness, but will I listen?

No. Of course not. Who listens to a madman? I have been taught what is right, and fleeing is not. The madman will die in time. And where the madman came from...

It was perhaps aroused by the fact that I lost my older brothers in the span of two months. Both of them disappeared without a trace. They were important people of Italy, and will always be more important than anything to me. I know it had something to do with political tensions, and by relation I may be next, but before whoever it was can think of laying a finger on me I’ll be gone. I don’t want to go through all the torture they must have gone through before dying. The police found the corpses, and what remained of their bodies - we could not bury that. And as Christians, they couldn’t be cremated . I’m not even aware of what happened to them, a friend took care of everything for me.

In addition to my two brothers, I lost my grandfather, whom I tenderly used to call nonno, Italian for “grandpa”. I can’t call him that anymore. I can’t call him at all now. He died of heartattack when he heard that my brothers were missing. He, unlike them, was given a burial. It was a dark day, as the only family present for him that day was me. The remaining members of my family have been taken by an unfair life in an unfair world and the result is my never-ending loneliness. I am what remains from my dynasty, and I don’t like it.

Moreover, I lost two friends. One died at sea. He was an admiral in the English navy. The other one died in an Australian sandstorm, something she knew since her childhood, but had decided to take her away now, and I can’t deny it was certainly because of some careless act she sometimes pulls off, as she can’t admit being wrong. Or just a bet, stupid as she was.

We used to laugh thanks to the joke of Italians who “pasta away”. And unsurprisingly, it recently lost its humorous meaning, now that everything I knew was gone. I can’t stand speaking about them in the past tense. They are alive when I think about them. I hear their laughs, their voices, I remember everything we did together, with my family or my friends. I remember the sweet songs of my brother when I couldn’t sleep as a kid, I remember my oldest brother’s bad temper. My nonno was the nicest man on Earth, at least to me, Peter was a bubble of dreams and naivete that never expected death at sea, and Ashley was a hotheaded Australian girl who could blush at the smallest of inconvenience.

...

I don’t have any reason to stay. So why are my hands shaking like it’s snowing on me? Why can’t I look clearly through my teary eyes? Why am I losing the ability to bear the weigh of my own existence? My shoulders are going up and down, and there’s nothing I can do with that. My colleagues can’t see me directly anymore. They’ll think it’s just the video being messed up. I wonder how many seconds, minutes passed. It’s a timeconsuming activity to be melancholic after all.

An automatic door closes behind me as I unconsciously take another step forward. I now stand in the center of the whitish demonic invention, that has nonetheless been created for me. Everything in there looks like a storm of steel.

I want to realize something. I want to realize what I’m doing is deeply wrong, but the thought doesn’t reach my brain. It rather stays in this state in the middle of euphoria and remorse. Is that really remorse? I can’t tell. Why am I putting up this mask of happiness when I’m collapsing from the inside? It’s nonsense, but my whole life is nonsense… so why bother?

I wonder too much. Leaving, yes. I have to focus on this idea or else, I’ll loose the ounces of motivation I accumulated thanks to the remembrances of my nonn-grandpa’s motivation speeches. I will leave this world and the good side is it’s similar to death, but it’s not eternal.

I don’t think I’m even able to voice my name anymore. The only hoarse sound that escapes my throat is another “yes”. I shouldn’t have answered yes to this question. Am I ready? Am I truly ready? I’m not, and what we are doing is against nature, the flow of time is something that shouldn’t be messed with. The power of mortals is weak compared to that of a god.

I hear my childhood colleagues yell something I can’t make out through the sound of the energy buzzing in my ears. A second before I am hit by the laser, everything stops, and it seems like an eternity before I comprehend a “be proud” out of their coupled voices. I don’t move my head, but I suddenly feel an overflowing heat speeding the beat of my heart up, making my head ache like it’s being ripped off, I feel a hot and slimy liquid around my legs, and the strange sensation of being alive, which one feels only when one is on the verge of death, fades surreptitiously away. There is no place for doubt anymore, it’s either going down or going back now. I don’t even think I’m able to form a coherent thought out of this mess, because two words are stuck, endlessly repeated in my head like the death knell they were similar to.

Be proud?

I am expected to be proud... I have been programed to be… because right now, whether I want it or not, I am, more than anybody, making History.

 

And this lone idea petrified me more than Medusa’s glare.

* * *

My back aches. I feel my spine shivering on the spiky rock-covered ground, and as soon as I attempt to lift my leg up, I experience once more pain as the bizarre leaking liquid has me stuck to the ground.

I moan pretty loudly, rivaling the ear-splitting voice my brother used to have when he squeaked at anything anyone did. I however quickly comprehend that being boisterous won’t help me in any way at the moment. I shouldn’t lure wild animals in, nor should I draw people’s attention to me. It would be inconvenient to die like this. I would greatly prefer a triumphal victory over these times rather than perishing here because of common things such as manslaughter or suicide. I hope I won’t experience any of this, but it’s a hopeless dream now. I’m in the past, of course I’ll see the worst of humanity, the present is still full of these atrocities! They didn’t appear out of nowhere.

I wince when I straighten my back, getting ready to sit to see the surroundings. I grip the most stable rocks of the ground to sit up, and find myself facing a deep occult forest.

I was at the edge of the forest, near a grassy plain. Nothing was cultivated here, and that’s a shame, because fields meant civilization, and perhaps city. The forest in front of me looked endless and horribly dark. I couldn’t discern anything of it, only a black void that would soon suck me up if I wasn’t careful enough. The trees were seemingly taller than what I’d imagine for a forest, but it had perhaps to do with the fact the heat was sensibly higher than in the present. I was used to the Italian summer heat, however this one was even more unbearable. Like everyone, I had techniques to escape from the deadliest of stars, that I nothing but love, of course, as both an Italian and a sun lover. Technique-wise, the Italians or even the Spaniards don’t go out after 2pm: we usually have a siesta at this time, in the colder interiors of ou houses. It is the nicest period of a day: the siesta. I hope I’ll have time to take it easy here as well, or else it’ll be harder than planned. I couldn’t observe the population without missing my daily siesta. Childish as it is, it stays dear to me.

I can’t even use a phone or a GPS to pinpoint myself on a numeric map, even if I crave for it… Everything was so easier in the modern world… Where are cars when I need them the most? Where is the international messaging system that permits me to contact anyone in the world.

Anyway, as the never-setting sun was embracing my sunkissed skin, I thought about something… disturbing. Well, disturbing and a bit confusing.

What if I had not gone back in time? What if it didn’t work and someone, some farmer, sees a man in a white toga sat in the middle of his field watching his woods.

I would go in jail for this. I have to discover if I’m really in the past and if I am, the right past. No Revolution time, no war, no some… prehistoric era or anything. Rome. Roma Antiqua in Latin. You know, the period that lasted a lot and that founded the bases of our modern Occidental societies. Yeah, this one. You can’t miss it.

I stand up with difficulty, gasping at the sudden sharp pain that burned my sides and falling one more time on the ground. Fortunately, the grass prevented a greater pain. It takes me time to realize the unexpected dolor is just a consequence of my dehydration. I didn’t acknowledge it when I woke up, but now, I can feel my desert dry throat demanding water. My condition isn’t already good, but now that I know I’ll die of thirst, I’m not that excited anymore about my antic journey.

I instinctively try to remove my toga, but after reflecting for some seconds, I understand it’d be best to keep it on. If I arrange it, it’ll protect me from the lethal light of the sun and reduce the chances of heatstroke. As long as black dots weren’t forming in my field of vision, I was okay.

Truth be told, I don’t know if the veracity of this theory can be proved. I never had a heatstroke before, I am not really certain black dots obscure the vision before one’s consciousness fades away. I hope I’ll never learn the truth by myself, it wouldn’t be pleasing. I know better.

I won’t let myself collapse again. I pull myself together, gather my courage and ignore the pain and my complaints. I stand up. Inhaling is suffering, and all I can do covering my sides with my hands so I don’t feel it falling apart. I don’t know why, my instincts must have acted on their own, because I am aware such thing would never happen. Sides don’t fall apart.

I walk towards the horizon, extending my arm forwards so I can reach it out sooner. This vague illusion soon disappears when my fully extended elbow cracks and a wave of pain flows through my veins.

My other hand is stuck to my forehead, a vain attempt to protect me from the incandescent sun. I’m convinced some traveler will find my toga on the ground and discover inside the messy fabric the ashes of my very body that succumbed quickly to the temperature.

Or someone that would find me alive, although in a bad shape, and house me for a while before I buy my own place. After all, I do have a purse containing enough sesterces to buy a villa in Rome (and that was expensive). I would befriend some Romans and learn more and more about this era by chatting. That would be entertaining and extremely sociable of me. My coworkers are lucky I’ve become sociable after all the years I have llived excluded.

I interrupt my train of thoughts, as it seems to me that the field is endless, and I can’t help but wonder what I’ll do if I’m lost in the middle of nowhere. I could meet bandits that would kill me for my money, I could be killed by wild animals, I could… I could so many things! And as I don’t even have water on me, I could truly die of dehydration, which is the likeliest of the three. It’s disheartening! Looking backwards, I don’t see the woods anymore, only a blurry silhouette that seems to switch places.

My walking pace begins to slow down, and I can’t even control that. No river near me that could offer me water, nothing than just the plain sun, throwing its light onto the ground and making everything smell like an overcooked chicken. It’s only been ten minutes, and I’m on the verge of death, and to say I don’t accept that is an understatement.

I’m trying to remember what I could have been given in the present, so, before going back in time, that could be handy to me right now, but nothing comes to mind. Truth be told, I can’t even tell what happened when I left. I don’t remember my state of mind, my colleagues, my boss… Their names are now unknown to me and that’s strangely confusing, yet appeasing. I just have to remind myself I’m on a mission every day, so I don’t forget that I’ll leave this place one day. It’s perhaps just the intense exhaustion, even fatigue, I’m experiencing, everything will come back to me in due time.

The temperature is killing me… How could they live like this? For centuries? Agreed, they are short and I’m tall. Perhaps that has something to do with that? I’ll be satisfyingly surprising to them, perhaps even a circus freak, thanks – or rather because of – my height. It’s a bless like a curse, in the past or the present. I can still hear the strident and angry voice of my oldest brother when he finds out I’m the tallest of the three. He’s always felt threatened by us, but I never knew at this time that this sensation of his was so strong.

Arg, now is not the time to be melancholic. I need to drink. It is necessary, I’d even say that it’s a question of life or death.

I have to rub my eyes for tears to appear and water them, as I even felt my… eye liquid? Drying out too. I’m young, I don’t know the word for eye liquid. Well, less than forty is young. Therefore, I am young. That’s why I’m allowed not to be aware of such a word. I don’t even know if it exists. It would be stupid to…

Ah! Damn it, I’m getting lost in my thoughts again. I can’t let that happen, I need to focus. Water, where can I find water? My tong is furry and my brain is shutting itself down without warning.

I don’t even know how much time has passed, but I feel my knee scratching the ground as I fall on the side, making me silently wince and then quieting me. Am I so weak already? I’m starving, that’s the reason. Words can’t even form in my throat for lack of water and my stomach doesn’t even have the energy to grumble. In this state, I’ll stop thinking clearly in some minutes, and it’ll be just a matter of hours for my death to happen.

I try to lift my head up, in vain. I can’t help but sing to myself a tune from my childhood. My oldest brother used to sing it a lot, but that’s because nonno was himself fond of it. A song from la _Resistenza_ from the Second World War. Bella ciao is its name, and its frenetic pulse my nonno sang it with can’t even wake me up. I murmur its lyrics voicelessly, insisting more and more on the ciaos I pronounce. “Beauty bye, beauty bye, beauty bye, bye, bye...”; “this is the flower of the partisan, who died for freedom”. I’m not a partisan, and I sure don’t deserve a flower, but… this song fits nonno a lot. I aspire to his greatness and I absentmindedly think about his face. None of us inherited his sharp features… My brothers yet looked like him a lot. They had his round bubbly face, the one he had when he was young. They didn’t have the same eye colors but, gosh, were they similar.

Perhaps, if they hadn’t died, they would have obtained the same features as him.

I know I wouldn’t have. I never resembled him much.

I close my eyes.

I miss him. I miss them.

* * *

I awaken in a strange position. I’m somehow sitting and lying down simultaneously, however it may be thanks to the small space I’m in. My mind tiredly awakes, and I have the uncomfortable sensation of emerging from the dead. I may have ups and downs (with really long downs), but I don’t think I’ll ever kill myself, and that is why this wicked feeling of resurrection makes me snap.

I open my mouth and the sense that I have been gratefully given water arouses my consciousness, and I thank the gods I have been picked up. I still don’t know who helped me, but whoever they are, they are my savior and I owe them terribly.

Then, I feel the steel bars and I’m not so happy anymore. They are hot and I almost burned my hand against the metal, it’s another sign it might not go as smoothly as I would have loved to. It would make my life much easier if fortune was on my side, but I’m rather cursed with misfortune.

I gave it some thought, and it looks like I’m as prisoner. Incredible. Not that I’m scared. I mean, who would be scared of being taken prisoner in a society where prison doesn’t exist and you’re either send in exile, tortured, slaughtered or downgraded to a slave state?

Yeah, I wonder who would be.

Alright, I can’t hide the fact I’m scared to death. I try to touch the harmonious fabric of my toga, but all I can sense is the rough fabric of the tunic I wore underneath. So they took off my toga. What have they done with it? I kind of need it. My eyes are still stubbornly closed, but the lone concept of opening them pained me. I oddly felt close to a lizard at this point, burning under the sunlight and therefore having reduced cognitive reactions. This makes the corners of my lips twitch upwards, and when I think my savior hasn’t seen me, it seems it didn’t go unnoticed.

“Mmh? He’s smiling? Do you think he’s having a good dream?

“I don’t care.”

“Right. Well, I’m sure he’s having a good dream.”

“What’s the point Felicianus? He probably died of thirst out there. You’re making all of this up, I swear.”

“No, look by yourself! He’s definitely smiling!”

I hear a “smack” and I can’t help but pity the “ow...” it received as an answer. Who were those young men? Their voices are still a bit high-pitched to belong to men, I’m perhaps older than them. I don’t know. I should wake up so to see their reactions.

I rub my eyelids and the moving wagon stops its course, and an urge to flee fills me up instantly. I open my eyes and wait for my view to adapt, and I scream.

The man bolts backwards. He was so neat I could feel his breathing against my cheeks! He almost made me pee my pants. Never ever am I collapsing near a suspicious forest again. They are certainly elves bringing me to their crazy leader.

Hence my aforementioned urge to flee. It’s not a mystery that my instincts are overdeveloped, and yet, I find it necessary to thank Mother Nature for these. They will come in handy some time during this mission.

“Oh my...” the man who had his face on mine muttered. “I’m sorry I scared you. Are you alright? Do you need anything?”

“N… No. Thank you. I am fine” I answer, looking at him curiously. He observes me from head to toes and then burst out in a fit of laughter he can’t seem to get control over. I see the other man snapping a bit his sassy face and cracking his lips upwards as well.

To say that I’m deranged is an understatement. I don’t see why they’d laugh like that! I inspect my face with my hand, I look around me but nothing really seems ludicrous to me. I don’t see what could have provoked this, but I guess asking won’t do any harm.

“I’m sorry sirs but… what are you laughing at?”

Oddly enough, it calms both of them down the instant. The smallest of the two now stares at me with puppy eyes and an apologizing face I thought only my brother could pull off.

“Oh… Excuse me, I thought… I thought you were kidding but that is your… your real accent...” the man pronounced with difficulty, lowering his head as he spoke the last words.

“Where do you come from?” his mate asked me. “I’ve never heard someone speaking like you.”

“I’m from… the south. It’s pretty far and I used to live on an island… That perhaps explains this accent you speak of.”

“I hope I haven’t offended you. I didn’t mean it” the smallest solemnly claimed. “My name is Felicianus, and here’s my dear brother, Ellevinus.”

What are those for names?

Felicianus was a derived form of felix, the joy. It just meant “the happy one”. I guess it fits the man well in comparison to his brother who seemed to belong more in the “I got an attitude” side. Ellevinus, by the way, literally meant “the wine”. It perhaps has to do with his birthplace. His mother perhaps gave birth to him in a vineyard. That would be a funny story to tell once back in the present.

“What is your name, stranger?” Ellevinus barks at me. At this, his brother shoots him a desperate gaze and looks at me with this same apologetic eyes you can’t say no to. I don’t mind the eldest boy’s bad temper. They both remind me of something I can’t really pinpoint in my memory, however, it feels nice.

“Marcellus”, I answer without hesitation. “Where do you come from, sirs?”

“We were coming back to Rome after a long trip together” Felicianus joyfully explained. “We have family to meet, and we found you on the ground as we passed close by. We decided to pick you up. What were you doing near this forest? Were you lost? Why were you alone?”

“Oh… I, er… You know… I don’t remember. Amnesia it is. I’m sorry. I don’t remember much. My name is perhaps all I’ve got.”

I don’t make a face to sound convincing. This Felicianus guy seems gullible enough, and if his brother isn’t, well, I don’t really care. I can’t tell them more anyway. To their eyes, I’ll now be the man with no past, or at least, no recollection of it. My story, shrouded in mystery, will never surface again, and I’ll peacefully live two full years in Rome.

That’s a good plan. A really good plan.

“I am truly sorry for you” Felicianus added. “Do you still know where you live? It is not possible you came from your island to here and then lost your memory, right?”

“No… No, I… I don’t remember. I do know I used to live on an island but… I can’t even tell you when. Pardon me, it is unfortunate...”

“Unfortunate? That is a catastrophe! Levinus, we have to help this poor soul! He drank all the Leathan waters if he has no recollection of this fact!”

“Oh, and how, Mr. I-Want-To-Help-Everyone-Even-When-I’m-Not-Able-To?

“Come on brother dear, we can’t let him wander through the city, alone! First, it’s dangerous, and second of all… you’ll have accomplished a good act. Benevolently. Grandpa would be proud of you, because you would have become a better and altruistic person, and that is something everyone longs to achi...”

“Right! I got it! Now please shut up and let’s continue on our way! I can’t bear when you talk like this, man up a bit and stop acting like my mother.”

“I knew he’d say yes” Felicianus murmurs in my ear with a smirk. “Let’s get you out of this cage. We’re sorry, we didn’t have anything better to transport you in.”

“Know that a corpse lay down right where you’re lying yourself” Ellevinus nonchalantly ridicules me.

“I’m sorry?” I blurt out “A corpse? Whereabouts?”

“Ugh, you speak like an old man. There was a corpse because we brought it to its family. It was a woman.”

“Levus! You didn’t have to say that!”

“I don’t give a damn. And stop it with your nicknames! Call me by my full name at least once!”

There is a silence. Felicianus doesn’t answer and leads the way towards the exit of the cage. He jumps out of it and is caught by his brother who prevents him from falling. He may speak like a narrow-minded idiot, but he cares for his brother, that’s the least he can do I think. It’s heartwarming in some way. I reach the final metal bars and decide to jump as well. I notice we are on a pathway, the ground is covered with whitish rocks that even look spiky.

I wonder how the wagon’s wheels aren’t breaking on this ground. I guess what woke me up earlier were the fluctuations that certainly shook the cage I was asleep in.

I fully extend my legs and launch myself in the air, but as soon as I leave the uncomfortable metal, I fall and I can almost hear me scraping my knees against the cold hard rocks. The air in my lungs is abruptly expired as the collision has been harder than expected. I also did not expect to fall, I thought my catlike reflexes would help me.

I moan and feel the tears rolling along my cheeks. Look, this is hard not to cry in this case. It really hurts!

Felicianus gave me a hand to me and support all my weight as he makes me stand up. I look downwards, in direction of my knees and see the amount of blood that leaks from the wound. It’s a lot more than what I thought, it is not normal to bleed that much. Panic arises in me, and Felicianus, who certainly hadn’t seen the bleeding wound earlier, was becoming more and more maladroit as well.

I can feel his shaking hands gripping my shoulders as if he was the one hurt. Ellevinus, on the other hand, was keeping his distance between us and sure doesn’t look willing to intervene. He makes a disgusting face at the sight of my legs and walks off, in direction of a bag. He lifts it up, opens it up and searches its insides frenetically; that is how I understand he’s losing his sangfroid as well. Felicianus is crying in my ears, oddly enough for someone who’s just supporting me. I have stopped crying, that’s what I know.

Ellevinus obtains out of his bag a white tissue that I don’t recognize immediately. However, as the fine red fabric went along his arm to make sure it wouldn’t touch the ground...

My toga.

He comes to me, bag on his back, and, as I fragilely straighten my wounded legs, he pulls out of the bag a goatskin, filled with water. The wagon didn’t seem to include amphorae and I wonder how they survived with only this goatskin. Moreover, he uses his personal source of water to clean my wounded knees, and that perhaps contradicts my precedent statements: he may not be an idiot. He looks like the most responsible out of the two, he is the older brother after all.

I don’t know what hurts the most: the gravels in the open wound or the fact the water makes them sink deeper into my flesh. Ellevinus quickly washes his hands and brushes my knees gently, soothing me with “tsk”s every time I wince. I quiet each time he glares upwards and stops himself in his activity.

He rips a piece of my toga and knots the newly made rope around my leg. He then rips another part, which was bigger this time, and tied it around my knee with it. Bit by bit, he forms around my leg a protective fabric wall which is also tight enough to prevent further bleeding, he did the same to the other one. I can’t even bend my legs anymore, but at least the compress inhibited the pain and I wouldn’t die now. That was a pro, I avoided death twice already. Looks like technology isn’t as important as I thought it was: human cooperation could save more lives. At least, mine was saved, and it might be egocentric, but I have all the rights to be.

Felicianus has released me from his grip and was hardly swallowing sobs that are threatening to appear more powerful than ever. I don’t know why he reacted this way to blood, he was perhaps hemophobic. He who earlier seemed so tactile he was almost tasting my face with his, became reluctant to even approach me just because of my bloody legs.

I mop around a bit to try and test my walking in such a state, and pleasantly discover it doesn’t hurt this much. I sigh of relief and all my facial muscles relax at once, a sense of euphoria diffusing itself throughout all my members, organs and blood cells.

Lovino gives me a cloth and tells me to sniff it from times to times, repeating me it will make the pain more bearable. I glare at Felicianus whose face suddenly looses all signs of life. He emotionlessly nods at me, so I obey and I’m not staggered less than two minutes afterwards to feel my head becoming heavier. The sounds around me are more and more indiscernible, Felicianus looks at me with worry and his body visible tenses up as I fall backwards and he tries to catch me up. That’s exactly when my vision stops working and I fall unconscious. And it’s not reassuring.

At all.

* * *

I wasn’t aware of such things. Romans had drugs that worked when inhaling?

Crazy.

My mind is strangely clear. I don’t have any migraine, I don’t feel like collapsing at any instant. I feel relatively good, and that’s noteworthy for someone who has been drugged. What I can’t tell is how much time I passed unconscious. It’s not that much of a problem, because I don’t really have any important appointment (I don’t have any, in fact), I can’t be late.

Against my arm is rubbed a fur-like fabric and it scares me to my bones. I’m afraid I’ve been kidnapped for real, although a prank wouldn’t calm me down either.

My fear however vanishes when I hear a purr echoing in my head. I open my eyes and look at my right and notice a cat, which is seemingly young. His fur is cream but dots of ginger color it there and there. He has green eyes that seemed heartwarming and welcoming as well. He rubs his cheek against the palm of my hand, I smile. The sound of purring becomes stronger when I move my hand he was rubbing to gently caress his body.

He seems comfortable enough with me to interrupt the caresses and walks on me innocently. He curls up on my chest and sits, his purr following my deep breathing.

I lay there for hours I guess. He doesn’t move from an inch, but that doesn’t disturb me. Cats are cute, after all. I’ve looked at him a lot of time during the hours I passed there. Near his left ear, a string of hair is strangely popping out and seems untameable. He’s been my only source of interest for the last hours and I kind of get bored. Nobody passes before the door and all life seems gone from the house.

It’s dark already, the moon is shining upon the city we’re certainly in and I feel like its mysterious milky aura casts devilish spells to the noctivagous drunkards. An ebrious cry makes my spine tremble as it sounds like a man is killing someone else. Some other cries make the night quake under their either pleading or violent tone, but the silence soon reigns once again upon the land. I feel the tense atmosphere from my room, but the cat stubbornly remains on my chest and even extends his claws, almost tearing my tunic apart.

I lift him up in my arms and sit up as well. He decides to reside on my thighs, I let him. I won’t throw him away, he didn’t harm me in any way!

I hear footsteps coming my way. A candle has been lit, I recognize its light faltering along with the wind blowing in the room. The steps become smaller and smaller, until I can only see a shadow projected on the corridor wall I can see from my bed. I see a movement, but it seems too hesitant.

If I guess right, it is Felicianus. The boy seemed concerned when I passed out, he may want to check on me.

I clear my throat to notice him I’m well awake.

The shadow moves once again, and this time, it is confident enough. He enters the room and glares at me sadly, as if he’s about to ask me to choose between the good and bad news.

He really is just a kid. He may be around twenty or even less. He seems scared easily, and… he deeply reminds me of my own brother. They both do. That’s weird, almost as if I met ancestors of mine that are exactly like my brothers!

He nears me and delicately puts the candle on the night table next to my bed, or rather, the bed I slept on.

“Are you alright?” he asks me sincerely. He sits besides me and plays with the cat who seems to appreciate him greatly as he tries to smoothly bite his fingertips. His shiny eyes are transmitting his inner emotions, and it looks like he feels bad for something he’s done. Gazing me, perhaps? Anyway, he has two bangs of hair, separated right in the middle of his head. They are short enough so they don’t bother him but it does give him an endearing face. Funnily, he has the same string of hair as his cat, and they look like they make a great pair.

His amber eyes harmonize his face with his auburn hair cut short. His glare gleams in the obscure night and the candle flame reflects in it cutely, intensifying his eye color to the point I felt like falling in love with them. He really was a cute boy, he certainly still hasn’t reached majority. The type of boy you’d want as a son, and I do wonder now if he lives alone or with family. No, if I remember correctly, he came here to meet family.

Oh well, I could just ask.

“I am, yes.” I eventually answer.

“Listen, I’m… Sorry my dear brother did that to you. He sometimes thinks he has all the rights, and well… doing… this… wasn’t really his right.”

“I… I don’t mind. Why has he done it for?”

“He thinks everyone is untrustworthy. He only relies on family, not strangers. Once you passed out, he told me he was not expecting any good out of you. It was reckless of him. Pardon him, he always acts carelessly but, in the end...”

“I don’t mind, really. I forgive him.”

“W-What? Really? You mean you’re not gonna sue us? That’s wonderful!”

Sue them? This family experienced justice because of that young man, I swear. It’s not hard to guess.

We sit in silence for some minutes. He looks around the room, avoiding my sight. I don’t say anything, the silence is not something I necessarily like to break, although I was on the talkative side. Something hereditary.

Unlike me, Felicianus doesn’t seem that happy with the silence. He stares at me, big-eyed and mutters something under his breath:

“Do you really come from the South?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Your amnesia is not that bad, I hope” he instantly adds. “I will help you cure it. You can stay here if you don’t have anywhere else...”

“I don’t know if I have somewhere else, truth be told. I can’t remember.”

“Yeah, right… Well, stay here. Tell me, do you remember anything about… I don’t know… Gods, traditions, lessons during your youth or such?”

“I don’t. I have vague memories, but explaining everything limpidly will perhaps clarify them and therefore break my amnesia.”

“I… I see. How can you remember so few but still know all these words?”

“The mysteries of amnesia. I am sorry. I don’t mean to be a burden, I can also lea-”

“No, please don’t! You’re not a burden at all, I’ll be more than glad to help you in your healing process. Plus, we tend to get bored easily in this gigantic villa of ours. Our grandpa lives there as well, but he’s… you know… a grandpa. You’ll get to meet Elisabetha too, you’ll love her. She’s been Levinus and I’s nurse, do… do you know what a nurse is?”

“I think I get the idea.”

“Alright. We’ll continue this tomorrow. You can consider this room yours from now on. I am Felicianus Venetius Vargii, my brother is Ellevinus Romanus Vargii, my grandpa is Marcus Romanus Vargii. Do you remember your tria nomina?”

“M-Marcellus...”

“Okay, okay, don’t force it. It’s normal you forgot it. This was just to clarify our identities, we now live together after all. Sleep tight, tomorrow is going to be your first day in a society you don’t know, you must be stressed out, but don’t worry… everything is great in _Roma_.”

 _Roma_ … I truly am in Rome. That is perfect. I achieved my goal without even trying. I hope this is a checkpoint in my mission and that I won’t have to travel throughout all Europe. I want to stay here and study at my best. And judging from the guy, it is going to be interesting.

My excitation scares Felicianus who jolts back when I unwillingly touch his face with my hand. I would have jumped backwards as well, I can’t hold it against him.

He stands up, taking the cat in his arms and leaves, wishing me a goodnight in the process.

I lie down and feel the comfy fabric under my back. Beds weren’t that fancy in the Antiquity but that’s something I can live with. At least, it’s warm and I’m not freezing.

I become more and more immune to the noises and arguments under my window as I feel into Morpheus’ arms to enjoy my first night in a world I don’t belong to, and to know we messed with Nature for Science makes me rethink everything I know, but I don’t have any critic eye. I have been made for this, I am fulfilling my late grandpa’s wish, I am honoring my brothers’ deaths… I can’t be objective.

How in the world can I call this messing with Nature?

* * *

I wake up when a hand is placed on my face. A sweet, soft and honey-like voice makes its way towards my brain. The warm embrace of sleep leaves my sides for the cold reality, but this woman’s voice isn’t displeasing at all.

“Sir, wake up.” She repeats once again, gently pushing my shoulders to make me react.

I open my eyes and see a silhouette walking backwards as I fully extend my arms and stretch myself. I yawn and rub my eyelids forcefully. The sun seems high in the sky already, but I don’t give it one afterthought. What in this world would make me wake up early? Like I said, I don’t have appointments. That’s another pro of living here: the stress of modern society was away. That’s something I will adapt to quickly, there’s no worry about that. Except the Romans tend to wake up even before the sun...

I sit up on my bed and oddly gawk at the woman. I apologize and ask for her name.

“I am Elisabetha, Sir. Glad to meet you. I’ve been told to announce you your bath is ready. Follow me, I’ll lead the way.”

This woman is beautiful. She is older than me, long brown hair tied up in a low bun. She has braids on each side of her head that are linked together at the back of her head, just above the bun. One part of her hair is not tied, and it’s just two long locks which float on each side of her head. Above one of her braid is a reddish flower. Her attire is rather simple, being composed of a knee-length white dress and a silver necklace that reflects the sunlight brightly. Her eyes are emerald green and she has one of the sunniest smiles I’ve ever seen. She has her makeup on already, and it put her forwards well. She doesn’t look like a nurse much. From the outside, she resembles more a bourgeois woman who decided to be simplistic, that’s it.

A bath? Romans don’t take bath in the morning, that’s for sure. I am in the Empire ages, it means breakfast was nonexistent, being only a glass of water you drink. I did not even greet the paterfamilias this morning!

It is something each person of the household, even slaves, has to do! I hope the father of the household, certainly the Marcus Felicianus told me about last night, is not so strict.

I stand up and follow the lady’s lead. She may be a nurse, but she seemed important to Felicianus last night. Nurses often stayed with the family and kept contact with their “babies” even when they became older.

The idea of taking a bath strikes me. Romans don’t take bath! They have the thermae for this! And the horrible sensation of a strigil scraping the dirt away. I never tried it, and honestly, I don’t want to. This thing has to harm the skin in so many ways I wonder how they could just… keep it.

Why in the world am I supposed to take a bath? Okay, I perhaps… have been found in the dirt, alone. My toga has been ripped off to create new bandages that, I notice, have been changed while I was unconscious.

We walk for long minutes of silence. I don’t know what to say to entertain the lady, Elisabetha, and she doesn’t seem that amenable to me. She just looks like a solemn woman, but her face does say she’s being thoughtful. She isn’t just a slave after all, she perhaps received a conscientious and thorough education that lent her the power of erudition.

Every now and then, she gives me a jovial and openhearted smile which eases me. Although she has a goddess-like grin, no words attain my tongue and I remain dull. We eventually reach a small apartment where a basin fuming with hot water is affixed to a wall. The room contains not other element but this basin and some unfilled amphorae there and there. The ground is stone cold, however once I’m near the water, my shrills cease and I feel cushy, so much that the lone idea of the hot water flowing against my skin reinvigorates me. Notwithstanding, I don’t undress immediately, Elisabetha’s gaze focused on me.

She has closed the wooden door and is looking at me, unshakeable. She doesn’t quiver when I turn my head to her and stubbornly look her way.

“Marcellus, I suggest you undress. There is no proper way to clean yourself with this tunic. Do you require my help?”

“I don’t think so” I blurt out. “Do you… contemplate staying here?”

“Does my presence disconcert you? I am sorry, I am the only available person able to assist you.”

“I-I see. I just did not consider you would...”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No. It’s alright.”

I completely undress and can’t shake off the sense of shame that washes over me. It’s alright, I whisper to myself. Just breath in, then out. It’s just your… modern mindset troubling you.

Elisabetha moves around the room to inspect the different amphorae, and once she’s set her mind on one of them, she lifts it up all by herself, drags it towards the center of the room. She beams at me once she’s done and I can’t help but grimace at this, it has to weigh more than me and she trailed it like it was nothing.

She then walks towards the corner of the room where a small chest lays, one I didn’t see when I first entered. She opens it up and takes out different pieces of fabric, along with the demonic strigil that makes me shiver even from afar.

She then approaches me, smirking. A devilish twitch of her lip makes me thrill, and as soon as I feel the viscous ointment licking my back, I cringe. Its texture scratches me, but soon the metallic strigil rips my skin off. I’m sure I won’t be able to touch that skin anymore.

I wince as Elisabetha raises her hand again to scrap the now dirty oil off. And as she removes the strigil, she gasps loudly. I feel my back itching, but it soon changes to something closer to pain. She runs to the chest and gets a brownish towel out of it. She then runs back to me with a panicking face on. Her mouth is wide open, and I do comprehend a little screech as she presses the towel against my back. A sharp pain clutches my muscles which tense up, the air being, against my will, rejected of my lungs. I try to inhale again, but for that, Elisabetha would need to step aside and throw her damn towel away.

I jump forward, hitting myself in the wall and spilling the basin water. My head is knocked backwards and Elisabetha catches me wide-armed. Her fingertips against my bare body are harsh, almost used by handwork. She pushes me forward so I can stand up. She murmurs something I don’t fully comprehend, hence the reason I ask her to repeat what she said:

“I said I am sorry. Marcellus, I did not know you had such a… fragile skin. I was told you came from the South, are all skins there so breakable? Please don’t do anything while I try to wash the blood away, it’ll hurt a bit but it’s nothing. It’s worth the pain.”

Her voice, at this sentence, became strangely motherly. She was a nurse and she certainly was the best, as I can feel myself falling back into childhood as she soothes my pain away with kind and well-meant words. She really sounds like a mother, I wonder if she has had children herself…

“Elisabetha?” I speak as she announces me she’s finished with th-my blood. “Where do you come from?”

“I am from a Barbarian country.”

“And you were taken in as a nurse? Wherefore?”

“I speak Greek and Latin fluently. It is important for children of Senators to speak both, I taught them everything I knew, and look at them now, one of them is a citizen already. Time flies!”

“It does, I guess...”

“However, you” she whispers and eyes me respectfully. “I know you’re not from the South.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not from the South. Your amnesia may have created false memories. People from the South don’t speak like you do. They don’t look like you do, they don’t act like you do. I hope you’ll recover, the truth is important after all.”

“I’m… I’m sorry I can’t be more precise. I have no recollection of anything. It is disturbing for me as well.”

“I understand, do not pressure yourself too much. Marcus told me you don’t need to worry about administration, he’s taking care of things. It’s hard for strangers to understand Great Rome, I imagine it’ll be even harder for you. I became used to it, but I at least had my experience to assist me.”

“You have my gratitude.”

She mutters some response to that, I however don’t understand it. I don’t search it further and concentrate on not ridiculing myself. Elisabetha has taken out of the chest a box from where she’s pulled out a woolly fabric. She has dunked it into another amphora whose content I am not aware of, and applied it on my skin.

It hurts, of course, but you are certainly aware I’m a sensitive person. Let’s pass on this.

She gives me my purse and assists me to dress myself with a newly made toga. Once this session of torture is over, she indicates me the way to the common room, where Marcus is waiting for me. I am supposed to make a good impression on him. He can’t refuse to house me anyway, it is a religious rule to host the one in needs.

I walk through endless corridors, decorated with paintings, mosaics, even statues sometimes. Even philosophic phrases are written on flagstones which cover some walls or just stud the roof, showering me with unanswered existential questions, some of them I know. On the last door I have to open to appear in the common room is written “doctus cum libro”. This lone maxim makes him show his hand. He has to be one of the most strict, severe, stern, dour, unbending and stringent paterfamilias a family can have. I apprehend this encounter too much: he’s just a wealthy man whose sons and grandsons beyond all doubt suffered from his inflexible authority. I… I feel for them. I also underwent hardships because of my grandfather.

I knock at the door and don’t wait for an answer to crack it open. A man is speaking with another one, a client for sure, and they seem in a passionate argument. They speak with their arms flying around them, until the tallest of the two notices my small – no, that is ironic, I’m not so small, – figure fearing their bad tempers, yet, the tallest, astonishingly, beams at me with a sunny smile. He seems glad to see me, I am not sure the feeling is returned. He embraces me warmly and welcomes me with a boisterous and strong voice:

“Greetings, my friend! I am Marcus, the head of this household! I came across the fact you are named Marcellus, am I right?”

“Yes, you are.”

“Optime! I am delighted you were found! Imagine what horrible things would have happened to you, alone, near a wild forest? No… Don’t imagine that. I am thrilled you are among us now. My grandsons also told me you were enduring amnesia? Is that so?”

“It is true, Marcus. I can’t recollect anything.”

“Felicianus was right about the Lethean waters, wasn’t he? I assume nothing comes to your mind if I ask you what could have caused this?”

“I am sorry I cannot remember.”

“Don’t be. What is important is, you are alive. You know what the philosopher says...”

I can’t say I understand what he’s been blathering for some minutes, yet he was laughing, hence why I force myself to at least smile, to content him.

The joke seems to be endless, but he does stop in his speech when Ellevinus comes in by the front door with some groceries, wearing his praetexta. He is visibly grumpy and seems ready to throw a temper tantrum right there.

“What is it, Levinitus?”

“Why do you always choose me for your shopping? Felicianus did not even attend his lesson today!”

“He has a day off. He has studied more than you, that is why he was given this day off, you lazybones. And you’re soon becoming a man, you need to… you know… step up your game. Remember to pick your fiancee between all the names I gave you. Now, go please tell your brother I need him here, please?”

Ellevinus growls and leaves the room, tapping his feet on the ground as hard as he can, just because of his fury.

He comes back with his brother two minutes afterwards, not at all exhausted although he ran a great distance. People here also train, that is not a surprise young men like them are so fit.

“Felicianus dear, I suggest you take our new little friend around the city and explain, well, explain again, how it works. How about visiting the thermae as well? Antonius might be there if you stay long enough, he is planned to come back in short.”

At this, I see Ellevinus’ glare beaming up, and I almost discern a ray of sunshine suddenly illuminating him and giving him an aureole. Felicianus smirks and elbows him gently, but the eldest answers with a bark-like comment that I don’t understand. He then is told to calm down so that Marcus can continue what he was saying:

“Make him rediscover our best literature or such, that will perhaps break the spell that has been cast on him. Also, allow yourself some good relaxation too, Felicianus dear.”

That is Felicianus’ turn to beam up. He runs to my sides and grabs my arm, urging myself to leave as quickly as possible so we can reach the place sooner. I notice Ellevinus walking just behind us, but he is stopped by his grandfather’s voice:

“Ellevinus dear, you stay here. You have lessons to catch up with.”

“Sorry?” his brain proceeds the information. “Lesson? What lessons?”. His somewhat sense of happiness collapses instantly as Marcus tells him he missed two lessons, and that means two days to catch them up, but it also means two days without Antonius.

“I know your cherish your beloved brother’s presence, but you are not allowed to encounter him. Study, and you’ll be rewarded.”

“I study all the time, and all the rewards I get are an arranged marriage, a miscarriage of a woman that still isn’t my wife, the interdiction I meet the only sane brother I have and a shattered family. Thank you, beloved grandpa! I love these! Make sure to remember my birthday so I can get another atrocity!”

That is a family mishap I don’t want to take part in. Ellevinus sounds like a depressed man, and he’s not even a man. Felicianus doesn’t seem so eager to participate, that is why he rapidly waves to his family and pushes me outside. The exit leads to sumptuous gardens with harmoniously organized statues and bushes.

We travel through another world of wonders as we pass close by multicolor flowers, mathematically cut leaves and religiously standing pillars. It’s like everything comes from somewhere else, a place that can’t exist. It really is a utopian view, the butterflies go from flower to flower, birds sing their melodious orchestra from their branches in trees and the delicate waters flowing in the fountains soothe my evils away.

No malevolence can be, in this luxurious paradise, experienced. The sight of the burning sun does scare me a bit, but the calm and relaxed atmosphere that surrounds and envelops me puts me at ease. I feel like walking through these gardens endlessly, goalless, besides sightseeing.

Felicianus leads the way to the exit, and we leave this haven of harmony to meet the city every path leads to. The Great Rome stands awake before us, I catch a glimpse of its lifeful activities as voices boom downside the hill. Merchants come our way, but we royally ignore them and continue towards the city.

We reach less than ten minutes, during which Felicianus decides to tell me more about his family, an action I respectfully agree with.

He tells me he’s sixteen years old, his brother is almost seventeen. His older brothers are both twenty-five, although they are not twins. They are Marcus’ first sons and are adopted. One of them, a dark-haired man with olive eyes comes from Hispania. He, whose name is Antonius, apparently resembles Ellevinus a lot, but not Felicianus. Felicianus, full of admiration, tells me the stories of his glory. He is a soldier in the Roman army and contributed to the national peace which rules over the lands. He’s a funny, sometimes goofy guy. He likes to drink wine and has a strong distaste for marriage, much like Ellevinus. Felicianus tells me he’s always suspected something was going on between them, but that he never found out the truth.

The other brother is Aurelius, a Gallic man. He is a beauty lover and is actually an artist. He sculpts, writes, sings and charms his public with his eloquence. Because of his status, he’s allowed to wear longer hair than what Romans usually accept: his shoulder-length blond hair sometimes covers his eyes, something Marcus was always reluctant to, but he eventually discovered how silky and precious his hair is. His comrade in drink is his brother, Antonius, along with a man of Germanic origin called Promendus.

Felicianus decides to go on on Marcus’ life. The topic seems to interest him a lot, his eyes gleaming with cheerfulness. He explains how his grandfather a war hero was, how he saved cities and conquered lands, how he changed the Senate and introduced new laws.

With everything he tells me about, I wonder how his grandfather isn’t in history books in the present. If he is that important, important enough to live in this villa and heroic enough to have accomplished all these deeds, he should be known in the present. At least have some popularité that made him survive throughout two millenniums to come to us, the modernized civilization.

He talked so much I don’t even realize we have reached our destination. I look at the temple-like building in front of me, but I don’t have the time to gape as Felicianus grabs me and pulls me towards the entrance. Here, he pays for the both of us, and as we salute the gatekeeper, he tells me how famous and important these thermae are.

“They are pretty new, look, I can almost sense the fragrance of the paint. The stone is so polished I can see a reflection of myself! I love this place, it’s wonderful, I am convinced you will love it too!”

We walk through a passage leading to the changing room. Some men are finishing undressing and already quitting the room for the next one. Felicianus searches in the room and finds clothes he seems to recognize. He undresses the second he puts his bag down and urges me to do it as well. I managed to satisfy his need of velocity as we step out of the room and I can admire the grandiosity of the place. He gives me a pair of sandals to protect my feet from the burning ground. To say I’m amazed is an understatement. The place radiates of luxury and this idea fills me with an uncontrollable feeling of omnipotence. I can’t ignore it, it is lighting a fire in my heart up, an ardor runs through my veins and comforts this feeling of all-power.

Felicianus shows me a door we go through, and we end up in the caldarium. The temperature set my skin on fire but I don’t feel like collapsing. Yet.

Remember, sensitive person here.

Felicianus jumps head first in the water and screams to me to take a dip too, but I don’t feel like jumping like him. He screamed because of the abundance of people speaking with one another. They are so lost in their discussions that they don’t comprehend how boisterous they are being. An unbearable heat along with a cacophony of voices make me head spin. I eventually cave in to Felicianus and intend to jump, but the mindset I’m in makes it look more like a collapsing rather than a jump.

I come up for air and breath in deeply, enjoying the slow burn of the water against my body. Felicianus still talks, but I don’t even listen. The sensation of peacefulness is intoxicating, I lifelessly float in the bath, following the currents of the water.

I feel like resting there forever, but a shriek of a familiar voice wakes me up from my trance. I thought he hurt himself, but no. Felicianus was swimming next to a man who was lifting him up and down, like you do a kid to make him laugh.

Felicianus lands in the water with a violent “splash” which echoes in the whole room, almost bringing silence upon its bathers.

I swim in their directions, ignoring the mockeries of the other users. I stare at the man forcefully, until Felicianius and him stop hugging to make the presentations.

“Antonius, here’s Marcellus, a nice guy we’re housing for a while. He’s got amnesia, don’t go hard on him! He doesn’t remember many things, his name is all. Marcellus, here’s Antonius, my big brother and the nicest man you’ll ever meet! He’s also very buff but that’s because he’s in the army! Cool, isn’t it?”

“Aw, Felitus, stop that. I am pleased to meet you, Marcellus. I assume he… talked about me, did he?”

“He did, and said many things on your subject” I add with a smile. “I think you might have an admirer.”

“I think so too. Do you guys know where Levinitus is?”

“He’s not allowed to come out of the house”, Felicianus says sheepishly. “He missed his lessons and must catch up. Pappus said you weren’t allowed to meet with him. It’s his punishment for missing out on his lessons.”

“I see. He’ll never change. Time may pass, but he oddly remains the same.”

“Yes” Felicianus simply agrees. “Say, frater mihi, narrate me all the battles and deeds you accomplished in Hispania.”

“Felitus, there are not many things to do during peace. Let’s say I emboldened a crew to attack a Barbarian village, then I took part in the assault and we ended up victorious. See? Not that exciting.”

“Ow, I’m sure you just don’t want me to follow after you.”

“That, too.”

Felicianus’ face suddenly closes. He gets out of the bath and heads towards the tepidarium. My mind wanders off to this sudden closure. I don’t know what upset him. I turn to face Antonius and send him a questioning look.

“He wants to become a soldier, although I don’t want him too. Tata doesn’t really care, as long as it’s something high-ranked or something that keeps up with the family’s honor.”

“Why don’t you want him to become a soldier? You are not injured in any way, and you even said the times were peaceful. He has nothing to fear.”

“He isn’t the type to make war, you know? He’s timorous and rather faineant. He wouldn’t make it in the army. Moreover, I don’t want him to get hurt. It may be peaceful now, but who knows what will happen next week, next month, next year? We can’t take the risk of loosing Felicianus, Tata would agree on that.”

The situation this guy was in was deranging. He was right. The number of fallen soldiers was high. The technology needed to cure, heal, aid hasn’t been developed yet, there is nothing they can do besides watching their comrades die.

They have to pull through, to survive the illnesses which places such as the thermae propagated, to survive the life hazards.

Antonius steps out of the bath, following Felicianus’ path. I run after him, entering henceforth the tepidarium.

The differences of temperature made me shrill, suddenly freezing. I jump in the bath immediately to avoid the air currents that would make me sick. I swim right after Antonius who spotted Felicianus in the corner of the bath.

We stayed the whole afternoon in these baths. It was nice, reinvigorating. I felt cleaner as ever, and my was that a good experience!

That is something everyone should try at least once.

The time flew by so fast I find myself during a meal, the last of the day, but also the most important one.

Antonius is there, but not Ellevinus who begged Marcus to be allowed to go out this evening. He promised not to come home late, but that is all.

We’re sat on the three couches which surround a table. Slaves, who dined beforehand, were assuring the service. We eat fruits, strange soups whose taste is awful and speak about politics I should understand but I don’t.

Marcus has invited friends of his who, at the same time, were friends of Felicianus and Antonius. I get to know them, but I soon forget their names.

In my room, I close my door and sit on my bed. I enjoy the silky fabric that covers the mattress and bend myself in, appreciating the appeasing heat I bath in.

This day has been incredible.

I have come back in time, met a family of nice Romans, encountered their friends, spent time in the thermae, enjoyed the pure pleasure of the strigil. I still have bandages around my knees and back, but who cares now?

I am beginning a new life. The two years to come will be like this day, dangerous, breathtaking but, in the end, amazingly unforgettable. I will play the role of the amnesic better and better with time, I feel like I keep forgetting things about my own life. I never had two brothers. I have four. Friends? I’ll meet some.

I live in a world without the modern technologies of my homeworld. I can forget telecommunication, globalization, pressure, consumerism… Everything just vanished from my mind. I can’t tell what those words mean. I don’t remember.

 

 

My only recollection is my name. I am Marcellus Venetius Vargii and I come from the South.

**Author's Note:**

> So, back to explaining things. I totally forgot where I got the Promendus name from. I'm so sorry. I can't even find again what it means in Latin.
> 
> For Ellevinus: like said in the story, "the wine" in vulgar Latin is "ille vinus" and word evolution could've brought Ellevinus, and it's still very close to Lovino. Also, in Italian "the" is either "lo" or "il" depending on the letter of the following word, so "lo vino" is actually wrong, but it would also mean "the wine".
> 
> For Felicianus: literally "the happy one", from "felicitas", happiness. Feliciano comes from there to, and such names exist in other languages like French Félicien and such.
> 
> Marcellus is a Latin endearment word for Marcus, which exists in modern Romance languages. In Italian : Marco > Marcello, in French : Marc > Marcel, in Spanish : Marcos > Marcelo, etc.
> 
> Keep in mind that Latin "c" is pronounced like a "k" no matter the following letter. Markellus, Felikianus. The Latin "v" is an English "w" and the "i" is an "e". So it's pronounced Felikeeanus, Elleweenus, etc.
> 
> "Pappus" means "grandfather, grandpa" in Latin. "Tata" is for "papa".
> 
> Aurelius is actually France, whom I named like this in reference to a story on fanfiction.net "Through the Ages" by Servant of Anubis. Antonius is just Latin Antonio.  
> Aurelius means "the golden one" and Antonius doesn't really have a clear meaning. Either "inestimable" or "flower".
> 
>  
> 
> Yeah. Seborga may seem out of character and I'm sorry, it was to respect the prompt the teacher gave us.


End file.
